A Tale of Two Elven Cities: Part One - Gondolin
by Rumrum
Summary: They say that love is blind, but then so was Aníra. How could she, with her scarred face and unseeing eyes, ever hope to win the heart of the ellon with the golden voice?
1. A New Voice

DISCLAIMER: This is fanfiction. All I gain by publishing this story is enjoyment.

A/N: Let me say from the outset that I am not blind, neither do I know anyone who is, neither do I have any experience of the events portrayed. I simply planted and nurtured the seed, and it has grown in what you see before you. I hope you like it.

**CHAPTER 1: A NEW VOICE**

_Our parents are dead. Adar died trying to save you and Naneth from the fire – for all the good it's done you. I must take up the reins of the household; _you _can't do anything to help. I'm sorry to be so harsh, but we must face facts. I'm all you have now._

Baudhiel's words rang out so clearly, even after all these years. No wonder, for it was the first thing Aníra heard after waking up in complete darkness. She moved to the open window and allowed the gentle breeze to play across her face as she listened to the hustle and bustle of Gondolin. Yet again she tried to imagine what the City looked like. There must be crowds of elves and horses and carts, all of them milling around each other on the smooth, stone streets. The cacophony was a world away from the little homestead where she and her sister spent their Minorities. Back then, it was the very silence that was deafening, with only the occasional rustle of wind through the trees and long grass to break the monotony.

It was pointless asking Baudhiel to describe the City, for she always spoke the truth: 'why, when you can neither see nor appreciate it?' The Gondolindrim were a proud people, creators and admirers of beauty. Aníra was not beautiful; she'd be jeered and laughed at. It was far safer if she remained in seclusion.

That was what Baudhiel said.

XXX

They had come to Gondolin to seek a fresh start, away from all the gossip-mongers of their last home. Apart from their cousin Gwirith and her husband Límdur, Baudhiel and Aníra were complete unknowns in the City. Here Aníra could hide away as much as she liked and no one need think it strange. It was easy to be unseen within a cottage tucked away from the main thoroughfare. If only Baudhiel wasn't so busy trying to scrape together enough coin for them to get by, she might have time to take Aníra outside. As it was, Baudhiel was always out herself, plying her trade as a seamstress. Of course no client could come to their cottage, it being so bare for Aníra's sake. Even after Baudhiel returned home, she still had all the cooking and household chores to see to. Gwirith had offered to help or accompany Aníra herself, but her overtures were always rebuffed. Both she and Límdur were well versed in the disparities between the sisters, but neither could seem to penetrate their innermost circle. There were only so many times they could offer assistance.

So Aníra stayed at home, patiently waiting for Baudhiel's return. Her afternoon meal and a jug of water were within easy reach, and the fire was carefully banked, as she was terrified of open flames. Gwirith sometimes came round while Baudhiel was out to keep her company. It was through their conversations that she was able to glean just how passionate Aníra was about her lute. Her parents, Líndariel and Ainion, had met through their mutual love of music and it had always been a source of great pride to them that at least one of their daughters was similarly gifted. Miraculously, Gwirith had managed to find Líndariel's most prized possession: a lute given by Ainion on their binding day. In truth, it was more miraculous that it had survived the fire and the hubbub that followed.

Aníra remembered Líndariel taking the lute with her that evening. Its image was so clear in her mind: a shiny, dark, bulbous body, silver strings, and the shimmery, pink flowers painted on by Baudhiel as a surprise. Unfortunately, Ainion was less than impressed. While normally mild-mannered, their father could also be very exacting. Aníra privately felt he had generally been a lot tougher on Baudhiel than was perhaps necessary. After the fire, the lute had been found and brought to Baudhiel, who had put it far from Aníra's reach, lest she break it with her clumsiness.

Upon hearing this, Gwirith had gone straight away to look for the lute. She eventually found it tucked away in a chest. It had taken a _lot _of encouragement on Gwirith's part to persuade Aníra to take the lute from her, after all how could she play music now? But once the familiar weight was in her arms, she couldn't resist plucking a few notes. She was soon hooked and would play a little each time Gwirith came over; they had fun trying to remember tunes without any musical prompts. It was their secret. Gwirith had assured Aníra that the lute had been stored in such a way that Baudhiel wouldn't know of its being moved, especially as she herself had no interest in playing music. Thus, it was now hidden under Aníra's bed and she could get at it whenever she wanted to.

Gradually, Aníra began to play the lute more and more whilst her sister was out. Sometimes she played traditional tunes, both quick and slow, and at others she made up her own. They became a bit jumbled together, but that didn't matter. The sound itself was wonderful to hear. New, yet familiar.

An ever-changing voice.

XXX

As part of her trade, Baudhiel would sometimes go out in the evenings to social gatherings. With the evenings getting warmer and longer, Aníra also began to venture outside, but only as far as the little walled garden at the back of their cottage. There was a rickety, wooden bench set amongst the lavender she always went to. Sat there, idly playing, Aníra felt truly at peace and she would often not notice the flight of time until she heard the creaking of the front gate that heralded Baudhiel's return.

On one balmy evening, Aníra settled into her accustomed position and breathed in that heavenly scent. As she began to pluck the melodic notes of a tune from her childhood, Aníra felt moved to hum, and then lightly sing the long-remembered words…

When you taught me how to dance  
Years ago with misty eyes  
Every step and silent glance  
Every move a sweet surprise

Someone must have taught you well  
To beguile and to entrance  
For that night you cast your spell  
And you taught me how to dance

Light reflections in a lake  
I recall what went before  
As I give, I'll learn to take  
And to be alone no more

Other lights may light my way  
I may even find romance  
But I won't forget that night  
When you taught me how to dance (*1)

Her tune came to an end, although the birds kept up their singing. Aníra let out a sigh.

"That was truly beautiful."

The suddenness of the deep, masculine voice jolted Aníra to her feet. The sickening sound of wood crashing onto stone met her ears, but she paid it no heed as she flew to the safety of the kitchen. He must not see her! The whispers, the ridicule, the Gondolindrim did not like ugly people. Baudhiel's trade would suffer, forcing them to move from the City, and it would be all Aníra's fault. Just like their parents' deaths.

Huddled in a corner, Aníra could hear the ellon calling out.

"I'm so sorry for startling you. Please come back."

The click of the gate, and then bootsteps as the ellon walked tentatively up the path. Aníra squeezed her knees tightly as she listened to his progression. Surely, he wouldn't come in? She kept as still and as quiet as possible, willing him to go away, but she didn't know how hidden she was. Would he be able to see her from the doorway? The bootsteps stopped.

"Won't you come out and tell me your name?" He was still outside, away from the threshold. "I'm sorry about your lute. If you don't mind, I could take it away to be repaired?"

_No! Don't do that; what would Baudhiel say?_

"It'll be safe with me. I'll bring it back as soon as I can. Then, maybe we can be properly introduced?"

Aníra held her breath, but the boots began to retreat. The gate clicked. Silence.

Slowly, she unwound herself and leant against the wall. What had she done? Like their father, Baudhiel had a harsh tongue and it was a weapon she wielded with great skill. Aníra didn't want to antagonise her sister any more than necessary, especially when she was working so hard to support them. A lesser sister would have forsaken Aníra long before now. She should be loyal; she should _never_ have taken… the lute!

Aníra got up and tiptoed to the door. Once outside, she followed the familiar path to the bench. Kneeling down, she felt all around her, but there was nothing. The ellon had definitely taken the lute. Would Baudhiel _actually_ find out, though? She never played it, and since Gwirith had found it, she – Baudhiel – hadn't mentioned anything to indicate suspicions.

Aníra felt her heartbeat slow just a little bit. She leant back against the legs of the bench, fingering her long braid. She began to think of the ellon's voice. There had been an aristocratic note to it, but also… warmth. Aníra relived his first words: 'That was truly beautiful'. They fizzled and simmered inside her. An ellon had never said that to her, at least not directly. They had always complimented her parents, hoping their youngest daughter would one day be as talented as they.

How long had the ellon been watching her? What had he been wearing? All Aníra knew was that he wore boots, but then so did many ellyn. Was he wearing robes, or tunic and leggings? Was he dark or flaxen-haired? Baudhiel, a darkling, had taken after their parents, but Aníra stood out with her thick golden waves. She remembered running through the woods and fields, her hair billowing out behind her.

How times had changed. She no longer went anywhere, least of all at speed. Her hair was always pulled safely away from her face and her clothes were practical. She had no need for fine fabrics or fancy patterns, not when there was no call to impress. Now her gowns were rough and non-descript. Now all she needed was food, shelter, and clothing – what else was there?

Love. Aníra scoffed to herself. As soon as the ellon came back – _if_ he came back – and saw her for what she was, he'd recoil. Either way, it ended in the same, lonely blackness.

Still, it had been nice to dream.

XXX

Aníra heard the tea-tray being set down on the table.

"Out with it, then," Gwirith commanded, "I know you have things on your mind and for once it's not music. Where is your lute anyway?"

"I don't have it anymore," Aníra replied.

"Why ever not? Baudhiel didn't find it, did she?"

"No … an ellon took it."

Judging by the sudden spluttering, Gwirith had just inhaled a mouthful of tea.

"An ellon … _here_? Talking to you?"

"I know; ridiculous, isn't it?"

"That's not what I … what happened?"

Aníra told Gwirith all that had transpired the other day. At the end of her account, Gwirith let out a long, low whistle. To her, this was exciting and intriguing, then she saw the way Aníra was wistfully turned towards the open window.

"Sooo …" she lingered on the word in a gossipy fashion. "What's he like?"

"His voice was … like nothing I've ever heard before. It …"

"Captured you?"

Aníra nodded, feeling her ears heat up.

"Aníra, this is great news! Hopefully he'll be an Elf of his word and return the lute. I wonder how long it will take."

"But what if he comes back when Baudhiel is here?"

"What if he doesn't? The only thing you have to worry about is not being quite so jumpy the next time he visits. You know, I have been thinking of popping round more often. If I was here, I would be able to tell you all about this fish you've hooked."

Aníra flushed again.

"I haven't 'hooked' anyone. He'll run a league as soon as he sees me properly anyway."

"Aníra, you've got to have a little more faith in people. How do you know he'll be like that?"

"Surely I've told you of Ruscion, the farrier back home?"

"Yes, well, it sounds as though this Ruscion was a vile excuse for an elf. You can't take his example as a blue print for the whole of elfkind."

"I know no one here. It is better I stay where I'm happy and safe."

"Are you sure about that? Aníra, please, I don't pretend life in Gondolin will always be easy for you, but think about what you already have here. You have me, Límdur, and now this ellon. Your world is expanding, don't let Baudhiel's narrow view of it cage you up."

XXX

"Aníra! Aníra!"

The elleth in question quickly dropped her brush and hurried out to the hall, in slight trepidation of what she might be confronted with. Baudhiel sounded lively, happy even, something she hadn't been for quite some time.

"What is it, Sister?"

Aníra shrieked in surprise as her sister not only gave her a big bear-hug, but also began to whirl them both around, laughing gaily. When they finally came to a stop, Baudhiel squeezed Aníra's hands.

"Aníra, I believe I met my Soul Mate this night, and you'll never guess who it is: Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower! Can you _believe_ it?!"

Aníra raised her eyebrows in astonishment. Gwirith had told her of the twelve different Houses of Gondolin and how Lord Glorfindel was one of their most revered Captains. Descended from a royal line, Glorfindel's martial prowess was said to be second-to-none. Great deeds were expected of him. He was quite a catch, indeed.

"Oh, Aníra, it was so magical. He's charming and witty and _so_ well dressed. He is such a good dancer, too. He danced with me twice. There were other ellyth as well, but I know he singled me out."

Baudhiel hugged Aníra again.

"I'm finally going up in the world."

Aníra listened until the rustle of her sister's skirts faded. She was still rather stunned. If a couple of dances could have this effect, what would happen if they began courting properly? Despite Gwirith's assurances, Aníra remained unconvinced about the citizens of Gondolin. Of all people, Lord Glorfindel was like to be used to the very best things in life. Blind and scarred, she was no one's ideal sister-in-law. Gwirith had always been of a 'sunny' disposition and, like everyone else, was able to be optimistic.

One thing was certain, though: life was about to change.

**TBC**

*1 As sung by Katie Melua for the film _Miss Potter_.


	2. Many Meetings

A/N: Hello and thank you to all those who reviewed. I always try to reply to reviews, but FF only allows me to reply to certain ones. So if you're one of these unfortunates, thank you again – your reviews make me go all squiffy!

**CHAPTER 2: MANY MEETINGS**

Baudhiel's good mood carried on for quite some time. She seemed less prickly and even stayed home a bit more. Of course, it couldn't last, but the reversion came about in a way Aníra hadn't bargained for.

"Bless my Soul," Baudhiel exclaimed. "It's Glorfindel! He's coming up the path. Quick, how do I look?"

Aníra blinked but let her sister's slip pass – she was rather excited after all. Having been around Baudhiel a lot more than usual meant that Aníra kept hearing the tell-tale swish of her skirts and the tapping of her neat, kid shoes. Small sounds perhaps, but they spoke volumes.

"You are as beautifully turned out as ever, Sister," she replied smoothly.

There was a sharp rap at the door and Aníra knew without being told to make herself scarce. Someone as grand as Lord Glorfindel would not be wanting her cluttering up his view. She went out into the garden, sat on her bench, and began thinking about _her_ ellon. It was quite a marvel, really, as neither sister had ever come close to a likely partner, yet now there were two. There was certainly something in that concept.

"Aníra!"

Aníra jumped at the harsh tone.

"Yes, Sister?"

"You had better make haste, Glorfindel wishes to see you."

"Me?"

"When he said, 'the blonde elleth', I of course told him he was mistaken, but he insisted. He has brought along … a lute."

Aníra closed her eyes in silent anguish as the pieces fell into place.

"Come, Aníra. Now."

Heart thudding, Aníra made her way to the parlour. At least there was no danger of her clumsiness here, even without her sight, she knew the layout of the room. She kept her eyes cast down, a habit long-learnt and necessary in company.

"You two are sisters?"

Aníra's head spun, for this voice most definitely belonged to her mystery ellon. Now there was a note of incredulity to it.

"Most strange isn't it? Like me, my parents were dark-haired; Aníra has always been the odd one out."

"Your name is Aníra? That's a very pretty name."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Aníra in a small voice. She twisted her hands together nervously.

"Oh, no, I'll have none of that 'Lord' business, please call me Glorfindel."

"That is proper, I suppose, Glorfindel, given our relationship."

"Our…?"

"Our dance, of course."

"Oh, right … yes, I remember. Anyway, Aníra, I've come to return your lute as promised. I hope it works as well as it did before."

"Why, Glorfindel, it looks perfect." Baudhiel's tone was sweet as honey. "Come now, Aníra, you must thank him in the proper manner."

Slowly, Aníra raised her head and faced the direction Glorfindel's voice had been coming from. Now he would see that her eyes, once a shimmering ice-blue, were dull and cloudy; and that the delicate skin surrounding them was puckered because not even elvish skill had been able to heal it. She screwed up her courage, awaiting the sniff of disgust. It didn't come. Instead, a warm, masculine hand was placed over her own. Glorfindel took a breath to speak, only for Baudhiel to cut across him:

"Quite repulsive, isn't it? So now you see why Aníra can_not_ play the lute."

There was a pause, during which Aníra noted her hand was still held by Glorfindel.

"Oh, but she can, and so elegantly. Please, Aníra, I would be honoured to hear you play again." Now he was stretching down. There was a hum of strings. "Here."

Aníra's hand was placed onto the neck of the lute. Somehow, the feel of Glorfindel's hand on top of her own gave her courage. She steadied the lute across her lap and began to tune it.

A chair creaked, skirts rustled, the soft tapping of neat, kid shoes got steadily nearer, until they past right behind Aníra, and then stopped. A hand wound itself across her shoulders. Gentle. Intimidating. Aníra faltered, the notes slipped out of harmony, and Baudhiel swiftly bent across from behind.

"I'll take that. Hardly the work of a genius. I thank you, Glorfindel, for indulging Aníra's little fantasy, but now I must beg of you: she needs reality, not dreams."

"Hmmm … well, I suppose I'd better not take up any more of your very – valuable – time."

"Oh, no, don't go on Aníra's account. I can send her out into the garden and you and I can drink tea in private."

"No, thank you." His chair scraped the floor. "Farewell, Aníra, I hope our paths cross again."

Aníra cast her eyes down and didn't answer. The bootsteps began and then faded. The door opened and closed. Now there was silence.

"How _dare _you embarrass me like that and using Naneth's lute, too? After all I've done for you, _this _is how you repay me?" Aníra could feel Baudhiel's face very close to her own. "I've sheltered you, fed you, clothed you. You'd be down in the gutter if it wasn't for-"

"He asked me to play." Aníra's voice, though soft, was firm and steady.

Baudhiel scoffed.

"You really need to open your eyes, Aníra. He was brought up to be polite to those beneath him. You couldn't see his expression, but I could, and it is not one I care to see again." Baudhiel rose and began to walk away, but her footsteps halted. "Do I wish for life to be like this?"

"No, Sister."

"I deserve better, don't I?"

"Yes, Sister."

"You forget Glorfindel, and I may forget your transgression with the lute."

XXX

Aníra couldn't forget, nor could she forgive her blunder. It had been her best chance to engage with Glorfindel properly, for he _had _seemed genuinely interested. Now she couldn't even practise. Her life had suddenly become very dull again. Glorfindel would forget her soon enough. Even now, he was probably regaling all his comrades with the tale; they'd all be laughing and grimacing. Baudhiel would sail in. There would be no contest.

Baudhiel _was_ a beauty, there was no denying it. Aníra recalled her sister's dark auburn hair rippling out behind her as they ran through the fields, sunlight glinting off the warm red tones. She was fiercely independent and had such a clever way with words that ellyn would flock to her. Aníra would be there, of course, but she would always be sitting in the corner, head bent over her lute, far too shy to interact directly with anyone new.

Aníra almost laughed. When put like that, not an awful lot had changed.

XXX

"I'm hosting a dinner party two nights' hence – a silly little trade meeting. I've arranged for you to sup with Gwirith and Límdur."

"What? Why?"

"I'll need you out from under my feet, there's a lot to prepare."

"But you've always said it's too much effort for too little gain."

"I'm allowed to change my mind, aren't I? Besides when I'm bonded to Glorfindel, I'll be hosting loads of them and this will be good practise."

Aníra sighed inwardly.

"As you wish, Sister."

So, two days later, at the appointed hour, Baudhiel took Aníra around to Silver Street, where Gwirith lived with her family. Despite the heat and the empty streets, but still for her own safety, Aníra had been made to don a voluminous, hooded cloak. Baudhiel wouldn't linger on their journey, but it was still wonderful to be surrounded by so many new sounds and smells, as the traders finished up for the day. Aníra enjoyed listening to the change in timbre as they passed the farriers and the forges and on into the Jewellers' Quarter.

"Here she is," said Baudhiel to Gwirith when the latter had opened the door. "I can't stop."

"Have a nice time, Sister."

"You may depend on it."

Once Baudhiel had swished off, Aníra felt herself being pulled inside.

"Come in, come in, Cousin. Let's get that heavy thing off you, I'll hang it up on the hooks here. Right, come on."

Gwirith led Aníra along a stone-flagged corridor and into a warm room filled with the most delicious smells of cooking.

"Welcome, Aníra."

A work-roughened hand was pressed against Aníra's and she clasped it back gratefully.

"Límdur. Thank you for hosting me."

"Any time. Calanon, come and greet Nana's cousin."

A series of staccato taps brought Aníra's attention back to the door.

"Calanon! What have I said about running inside the house?"

"Sor-wy, Ada."

"Very well. Now, you remember what we told you about being careful around Aníra? Good boy. Come on."

This time the hand was small, gentle, but slightly hesitant. Aníra knelt.

"Gweetings, Aní-wah."

"Greetings, Calanon, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"What happen' to your eyes?"

"Calanon!" Gwirith admonished.

"No, it's alright. I…I played with fire, little one."

Tiny fingers padded gently at Aníra's scars.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

"Oh … I like your hair, I've got blonde hair, too. Ada says when I'm older I can have smith-bwaids like him."

"I did indeed, but little ellyn aren't likely to grow up big and strong if they don't eat their dinner. Go and wash your hands. The soup's ready, Sweetling."

"Lovely, I've got the bread. Aníra, would you just grab that wine jug on the sideboard next to you?"

"Me?"

"Of course."

"I'd better not hold anything precious, I'd only break it."

"I only want you to take it to the table, where's the harm in that?"

"No, I really shouldn't. Baudhiel says that …"

"That you lost the use of your limbs as well as your sight?"

"Gwirith," said Límdur, warningly. "It's fine, I'll bring it. Here, Aníra, hold onto my arm."

Once Límdur had poured out a glass of wine for the adults and a smidgen of wine for Calanon, to go with his juice, there came only the sounds a contented family meal can make. The soup, a hearty green pea and ham chowder, was full of flavour and the bread, still warm from the oven, was light and soft.

"So, Aníra," Gwirith began in a light tone once the table had been cleared. "Have you discovered the identity of your admirer?"

"I have actually, it was Lord … it was Glorfindel."

Gwirith spluttered on her wine.

"_The_ Lord Glorfindel? Are you certain?"

"Quite certain."

"Aníra, this … wow! You've nabbed yourself a big one, that's for sure."

"Hardly, he's only been around a couple of times."

"When was the other time?"

"The other day, to return the lute."

"Well, come on, what happened?"

Aníra recounted the tale.

"Hmm … that was hardly the most _romantic_ of interludes."

"What's romance got to do with it? He belongs to Baudhiel not me."

"Baudhiel?"

"Of course – she does deserve him more than I."

XXX

"How did your evening go?" Aníra enquired of her sister later, as they walked back home.

"Splendidly, thank you. I made some real progress today. It was good we were finally on our own. I can't believe I didn't think of it before."

"Might you meet up again?"

"Of course we will; there's no reason why we shouldn't."

Baudhiel opened the front door. Aníra's nose caught several different scents all at once.

"What did you eat?"

"Fried fish and vegetables."

Aníra sniffed again.

"It was the fault of the pans; they were very cheap. It's the last time I go to _that_ stall."

"No, there's another scent: floral." Aníra followed the scent into the dining room. "Lavender and freesias."

"Flowers from the garden."

"We don't keep freesias."

"They were a gift for me."

"That was kind of your guests."

"Wasn't it just?"

Aníra waited until Baudhiel had swished out of the room, and then she began to explore the room in more detail. There was a tablecloth – soft and thick – not something generally known in their cottage. The scent given off by the candles was different, too. Wax, yes, but it was of good quality and high expense.

A lot of effort to go to for a 'silly little trade meeting'.

**TBC**


	3. Acceptance

**CHAPTER 3: ACCEPTANCE**

Aníra was once again sitting amongst the lavender. She didn't have the lute of course, so her ears were more attuned to the outside world.

"Greetings, Aníra. May I sit with you awhile?"

"Baudhiel is not here."

"It wasn't Baudhiel whom I came to visit."

Aníra's heart thrummed, but she tried to assert control.

"What could you possibly want with me?"

"May I? It won't take long."

Aníra shrugged in acquiescence and shifted over slightly. The latch clicked, the gate scraped open, and the boots came steadily nearer. As Glorfindel sat down, she caught his masculine, musky scent.

"You are not playing the lute today."

A statement, not a question.

"No, it's been put away for safe keeping."

"I had expected to see you at dinner yesterday."

Aníra clenched her fists.

"I was otherwise engaged, which is just as well, really. You and Baudhiel need time alone together."

"We do?"

"You have greatly honoured my sister with your attentions, but please promise that there will be a proper understanding between you two soon."

"A 'proper understanding'? Oh … I see …"

"With only me for company, she is lonely and deserves happiness."

"Are not you yourself lonely without _her_?"

"Mine is a solitary life."

"Except for your sister."

"She helps and protects me."

"And yet she is not here right now."

"She needs to earn coin, besides I know my own home. I am safest here."

"You were away from here yesterday –"

"Our domestic arrangements are none of your concern."

"– and nothing untoward happened."

There was a pause. Aníra twisted her hands together, her heart thudding.

"My sister wishes to meet you. She thought perhaps a private dinner at our home."

Aníra blinked at the rapid subject change.

"Me? Why would she want to meet me?"

"I've told her all about you of course, and she's a very fine music player herself."

"It's impossible; I'm safe –"

Proper truths began to assert themselves causing the hitherto certainties of Aníra's world to wobble. Again she felt that warm, masculine hand cover her own.

"If you did it once, you can do it again."

_Do I wish for life to be like this?_

Aníra twisted her hand away.

"My sister keeps me _safe_."

Glorfindel sighed.

"Would it make you more comfortable if your sister was invited as well?"

Aníra didn't know what to do or say; Baudhiel seemed to have her heart set on Glorfindel and yet Glorfindel was inviting _her_ to dinner. But then, were there any romantic connotations in his request?

_He was brought up to be polite to those beneath him._

As was his sister. It would have been a casual remark about the music. This dinner would be good for Baudhiel and Glorfindel.

"Very well, I will ask my sister."

"Wonderful! Shall we say when Ithil is next in prominence?"

"That's fine."

"And it shall be my pleasure to escort you there myself. Until then, my lady."

The broad hand now moved and carried hers upward. Soft lips planted a gentle kiss on her knuckles. The next moment, he was gone and Aníra was left sitting on the bench, trying to fathom out what had just happened.

XXX

"Glorfindel invited _you_?" Even now, Baudhiel's incredulity stung.

"Yes, he did, Sister."

"Well, you're not going. Do you think I want you parading around in front of his entire household?"

Although Aníra had known that was coming, she still drooped.

"No, Sister."

Baudhiel took hold of Aníra's hands.

"Aníra," she said, in the same tone one would use to an elfling, "The gossip would spread like wildfire. I just want you to be safe. Where are you safest?"

"Here, where no one can see me."

"Precisely. Now that's settled, I must make a start on my gown."

XXX

On the evening appointed, when everything would be being bathed in Ithil's gentle grace, Baudhiel was decidedly nervous, continually pacing around the room and sighing. It did indeed seem as though time itself had slowed and Aníra jumped when a confident banging at the door heralded Glorfindel's arrival.

"Wish me luck," said Baudhiel as she swished off.

The door opened.

"Glorfindel, how lovely to see you again! Shall we go? I don't wish to keep your sister waiting."

"Where's Aníra?"

"She's not coming."

"I invited Aníra." The quiet emphasis on each syllable showed that Glorfindel would brook no argument. Still, Baudhiel wasn't used to not getting her own way.

"She doesn't care for social gatherings."

"Either I leave with both of you, or I leave with neither."

A short pause and then:

"Aníra, where are you? I said Glorfindel would allow you to come! Let's not keep him waiting."

Aníra moved out into the hall.

"There-" Baudhiel.

"There you are, Aníra, how wonderful to see you again!" Glorfindel's bright voice rang out, preventing all other interruptions. "Of _course_ you are welcome in my home. Unfortunately, we cannot tarry, but there's time enough for you to change."

"But I haven't-"

"Come, Aníra, we mustn't let Adar and Naneth down."

A tug at Aníra's elbow had her following the rather annoyed swish into the sanctum of Baudhiel's bedchamber. There was a scraping of hangers.

"You'd better borrow one of my old gowns. Come on, off with yours."

As Aníra pulled the rough, woollen garment over her head, the lecture began in earnest.

"Now then, Glorfindel is likely to have a very large household and I don't want to be embarrassed in front of them. I want to be respected as their future mistress, not sniggered at from behind hands."

"Yes, Sister."

Baudhiel delicately slid a velvet gown over Aníra's head.

"What colour is it?"

She felt Baudhiel pause in the act of tightening the bodice.

"Please, Sister."

"Deep red and you must be extra careful with it. Don't get distracted by conversation…"

Try as she might, Aníra was distracted by the richness of apparel quite unbeknownst to her for many long years. Her deft fingertips picked out the elegant embroidery along the rounded neckline and long, loose cuffs. What colours would match deep red? Instantly, she thought of silver or white and gold.

"… Are you listening to me, Aníra?"

"Yes, Sister. I will be careful, I promise."

When they went back to Glorfindel in the hallway, he immediately took up Aníra's hands.

"Much better," he declared in a whisper that strove for a deeper, more intimate register. Aníra felt herself getting hot.

"Your cloak, Aníra."

"There's no need for a thick cloak on such a warm evening as this."

"It's not for protecting against the weather, but for against the stares of others. I would not wish for Aníra to be marked out as something different."

"Wearing a thick cloak in the middle of summer is bound to mark her out as an object of curiosity. Besides," at this Glorfindel transferred Aníra's hand to the crook of his elbow, "There's nothing strange about an ellon having a beautiful elleth on his arm."

Glorfindel opened the door and strode out, taking Aníra with him.

"Wait, wait for me! I do not wish to get lost."

"That would be a pity," said Glorfindel almost under his breath, but still loud enough for Aníra at least to hear.

He stopped. Baudhiel swished up to them.

"Off we go, then."

The little trio set off. On the way, Baudhiel kept up a steady stream of chatter in the breezy, girlish voice she seemed to think Glorfindel preferred. Aníra concentrated on the sensation of everything around her: the smooth cobbles beneath her feet, the sounds and smells of an evening in Gondolin, and, perhaps most of all, the feel of strong, corded muscle beneath a linen tunic. It had been many years since she had been so close to an ellon who wasn't family. Now this summer, this evening, was becoming almost surreal. Even if Glorfindel did end up forgetting her, Aníra knew she would remember every little moment.

The most wonderful cooking smells greeted them immediately Glorfindel opened the door to his home. They made Aníra's mouth water. There came the quick tapping of shoes.

"Welcome! Welcome to our home!" A light, feminine voice. "I am Aerlinniel and you…"

"Baudhiel and Aníra Ainioniel."

A movement to her right told Aníra that her sister had left Glorfindel's side. Rather rapidly, as it happened.

"Aerlinniel, I'm so pleased to _finally_ meet you! How do you like my gown?"

"It's beautiful, as is your pendant."

Aníra knew the pendant Aerlinniel spoke of, for Baudhiel never took it off: A small, heart-shaped locket decorated with a bejewelled anemone – a symbol for undying love. Inside were two enamel portraits of their parents each facing outwards so their lips would touch when the locket was closed. The portraits may have been easily interchangeable with other couples, but there were also a few wisps of real hair attached to them, thus making them truly individual. It was one of the few things to have made the journey from their childhood home.

"Glorfindel tells me you are a seamstress."

"Yes. Although, I won't be for much longer, shall I?" This was said in a voice that played for intimacy and shared knowledge.

"Are you changing profession?"

"No, but as things progress, I won't have to work anymore."

"Right…that's good for you. And you must be Aníra?"

Aníra nodded mutely.

"I truly envy you, being able to play the lute. I myself play the harp and the pianoforte, neither of which are all that transportable. Glorfindel has told me how good you are. Maybe we could get together sometime and play a duet?"

Aníra was rather taken aback. Aerlinniel was chattering away like they were old friends and, like her brother, didn't seem to care a jot. The effect was instant relaxation and an intense liking for the elleth in question.

"Do you play often?"

Aníra shook her head.

"That is a shame. I doubt I could go for a day without playing something, could I, Brother?"

"You fill our home with endless enchantment, my dear Sister."

Aerlinniel hummed in amusement.

"Well, shall we go through? Glorfindel, if you take… Baudhiel… right. In that case, Aníra, you come with me and we can natter a bit more about music, which is just as nice."

An arm was slung about Aníra's waist.

"Which pieces do you most like to play?"

Aníra considered, what _did _she like to play? There were so many songs and tunes from her youth that it was hard to pick and in latter years, she'd tended to compose her own.

"I like _Elbereth's Glimmer_," she finally answered.

"Hmm, that is a nice one, and of course both the harp and the lute play small but significant roles. How about _Summer is A-Coming In_? I like it for being short and jolly. You can just imagine being twirled about to it, can't you?"

"I don't think-" Aníra began, but they had reached the dining room and now Aerlinniel was tugging her in a particular direction.

"You sit here, Glorfindel will be on your right, I to your left, and Baudhiel opposite."

The scraping of chairs being drawn across a smooth surface. Aníra caught at the smooth, rounded edge of the table and used it to steady herself as she sat down, the chair being pushed in behind her. Her hand was taken into Aerlinniel's gentle grasp.

"If I may? Here are the bowl and plate, and the cutlery, and the napkin." As she mentioned each item, Aerlinniel was carefully moving Aníra's hand around them. "Your wine goblet is to the right and your water to the left. Is that all alright for you?"

Aníra nodded.

"Excellent and now I shall serve up. Would you pour the wine, Brother?"

The first course was pea and lovage soup, followed by salmon and roasted vegetable en croute, and then a dainty vanilla souffle and strawberries. Throughout the meal, Baudhiel seemed to dominate the conversation while their hosts answered her pleasantly enough. Aníra was content to let her sister prattle on, for she was concentrating on tasting the food. Cooked to perfection, everything was utterly delicious and suffused with flavour.

"Do _you_ play any instruments, Baudhiel?" Aníra started at Aerlinniel's smooth, sweet cut-off.

"Me? Well…our parents taught us both, didn't they, Aníra?"

It was a suitably ambiguous response. In actual fact, while Líndariel and Ainion had gladly begun teaching both of their daughters to play, only their youngest stayed the course. For some reason, Baudhiel always seemed to resent their lessons.

"They did indeed, Sister." Whatever had happened between them, Baudhiel was still her sister.

"Truly? Glorfindel also took up the lute for a time. I'm sure we have his stashed away somewhere. Do you think you could find it, Brother?"

"Oh, there's no need to put yourself out on my account."

Aerlinniel sighed.

"It would have been _such_ a treat to hear you play. Maybe next time. How was the food, by the way?"

"It was exquisite. Do please pass my compliments onto your cook," said Baudhiel, answering for both of them while Aníra nodded her agreement.

There was a pause.

"You can do that yourself, Baudhiel, for she's sitting next to you."

"_Aerlinniel_ cooked all this? Surely you…"

"My sister enjoys cooking," Glorfindel was perfectly calm and polite even at the implied impertinence. "It would be churlish of me to deny her something so simple, but she is under no obligation."

Again, there was that note of quiet authority that can only come from someone completely at ease with his lot. It thrummed directly to Aníra's middle. Baudhiel had the sense not to say anything else.

"I think it's time for tea," said Aerlinniel lightly. "We can take it in the drawing room."

"And I'll take you ladies through. Are you ready, Aníra?" Glorfindel's hand grazed her shoulder and she turned toward it, levering herself to her feet in the same movement. Instantly, her hand was claimed to Glorfindel's elbow. "This way, Baudhiel," he called breezily.

The marble flooring in the hall continued into the drawing room. Aníra followed its smooth surface, mentally counting the steps. She was soon settled into a comfortable corner and was just feeling the upholstery when the clinking of a tray announced Aerlinniel's entrance.

"Would you like some tea, Aníra?"

"Yes, please."

A cup and saucer were gently placed into her hands.

"There is a table just beside you."

"Thank you."

Whilst Aerlinniel served Baudhiel, Aníra took a little sip of hot liquid and then set the dainty ceramic down on the table.

"Oh, Brother, before you get settled, I need to take advantage of your long arms. Excuse us a moment, Aníra, Baudhiel."

Aníra continued her examination of the sofa. She could feel the differences in the fabric. Was it brocaded? She longed to know what the colours were, but there was no point asking her sister. Baudhiel would only scoff and say that she had no need for such detail. That had been one of the harder things to come to terms with after being struck blind. At least before Gondolin she could picture the houses, possessions, and faces of friends and family. Now it was just a terrifying blank. She had never seen Calanon.

Aníra sighed and gave up. She reached for her cup and saucer. The heart-stopping sound of ceramic colliding with marble flooring rent the air. Aníra froze, not quite able to take it in. There was the sound of running feet.

"What was that?" Aerlinniel's voice was startled. "Aníra, don't! It's not safe. I'll sweep up."

"And I'll get a cloth."

Aníra timidly retreated into the other corner of the sofa, her hands clasped firmly together. Baudhiel was right; why did she never learn? She was a clumsy, ugly idiot, who had no place in polite society. Another cup was offered, but it was flatly refused.

"Are you alright?" The gentle concern in Glorfindel's voice, coupled with his close proximity, pierced Aníra – just like a sherd of ceramic.

"It often happens around her," Baudhiel said nonchalantly, "As I said, Aníra cannot be trusted."

Maybe it was Glorfindel's being next to her that gave her courage, or maybe it came from something deep inside her soul, Aníra could never be sure. However, injustice that began to prickle. She _knew_ she had been ultra-careful and had not her sister counselled her to be so? Her spine straightened, her chin came up, and she faced Baudhiel defiantly. Perhaps sensing the tension, Aerlinniel spoke:

"Baudhiel, I have been wondering, maybe you would be kind enough to give me your professional opinion over some new silks I have just acquired? Shall we go to my chamber, where you can see for yourself?"

"My pleasure, Aerlinniel. Aníra, wait here."

"Yes, Sister."

Swishing of fabric, a brief silence, and then a door closed some way distant. The body next to Aníra turned in her direction.

"Shall I show you around?"

Aníra shook her head.

"Go on," he urged, "Baudhiel's not going to know."

"I promised to wait here."

"'Here' as in this sofa, or 'here' as in this room? I would suggest, if your sister had wanted you stay precisely where you are, she would have said 'there' as opposed to 'here.'"

The cheeky edge to Glorfindel's voice made Aníra's lips twitch into a smile. She stood, as did he. Yet again that evening, Aníra's hand was tucked into the crook of Glorfindel's elbow.

"Had Erestor been here, I think he would have been rather proud of my linguistical spin just now."

"Erestor?"

"An old friend of mine, very scholarly. His Adar is Ecthelíon, Lord of the Silver Fountain, so Erestor feels duty-bound to serve in the Guards, but I wouldn't be surprised if he became Chief Councillor to the High King one day. Ah, now this piece is a particular favourite of mine."

They were over by the mantlepiece. Glorfindel lifted Aníra's fingers onto a carved wooden panel. It felt like a piece of fretwork…a thicket…some kind of berry…and birds, lots of birds…their beaks open in song.

"It's beautiful," she breathed wondrously.

"It was a betrothal gift from Adar to Naneth. She loved nature in all its forms and the birds are very apt because she was always singing, whatever she did. Total opposite from Adar. He was… pragmatic, abhorred unnecessary clutter. They were an odd pairing in many ways, but they worked."

"I suppose that's what love is, when you find your soulmate. It's a balance."

"Acceptance."

Glorfindel was close – too close. Aníra moved away swiftly.

"I should…erm…" She felt her way carefully back to the sofa.

"Wait there, I'll be back in a moment."

When Glorfindel returned, he placed a very familiar object in Aníra's lap. Her fingers brushed the strings. Her heart yearned to play, but her fingers balled into a fist. She shouldn't.

"Maybe," ventured Glorfindel gently, "You would be more comfortable if I left you to it?"

The squeak of a door followed by a gentle breeze and bootsteps moving away. Aníra was alone. _Baudhiel's not going to know_, echoed in her mind. Almost of their own accord, Aníra's hands moved the lute into position on her lap, and then began to pluck a few notes. The notes grew into a melody and Aníra began to hum…

When you taught me how to dance  
Years ago with misty eyes  
Every step and silent glance  
Every move a sweet surprise… (*1)

She closed her eyes in pure contentment, oblivious to all else.

All too soon, the tune came to an end, although the memory of it was left to shimmer in the air around her. A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, but she wasn't startled. Was it the effect of the music, or had her heart told her he was there? The movement of her own hand was stayed by the banging of a distant door, and then swift footsteps. Instantly, Glorfindel plucked the lute from Aníra's grasp and moved away just in time for the drawing room door to open.

"I found my lute," he said truthfully.

"Music is magic, after all," answered his sister.

XXX

Later, in the safety of her chamber, Aníra thought about Aerlinniel's words. There was wisdom in them. Looking back, it did seem as though Glorfindel had appeared in the garden by magic. All the things that had happened since were serendipitous – a coming together of souls.

An acceptance.

**TBC**

*1 As sung by Katie Melua in the film _Miss Potter_.


	4. Flowering

_FOR EARTHDRAGON: Thank you once again for such a detailed review – I felt I had to answer it properly this time! Yes, the dinner was rather cringeworthy, wasn't it? I see Baudhiel as being so sad, desperate, and wrapped up within her prejudices that almost any ellon could have shown her some positive attention and she'd cling to it. As a matter of fact, I had originally put An__í__ra and Baudhiel as going alone to the dinner, but then I realised how that couldn't work for precisely that reason! Being one of the few outsiders to have any kind of interaction with the sisters, Glorfindel has his suspicions over what's going on, even if he doesn't know all the detail, and is trying to tease things out._

_My elves are a lot more fallible than they're generally thought of as being. As I said right at the start, I'm not blind and I have no idea what it would be like to lose your sight so suddenly. I have imagined An__í__ra as being much more reserved than Baudhiel was when they were growing up, finding solace and comfort in her music. She has now lost all confidence in herself and Baudhiel being her one constant has made her entirely dependent upon herself. Baudhiel has taken advantage of this and has twisted things to an incalculable degree._

_I realise elven bodies are fabulous. To fit in with the story, I had imagined severe scarring, but to be honest, I hadn't completely thought about that detail. It's possible that the scarring is minimal, but I also feel that that feeds back into my previous point about Baudhiel twisting things._

**CHAPTER 4: FLOWERING**

Aníra awoke early. As she lay in bed, her mind kept returning to the events of the previous evening. She sighed happily, recalling the food, the conversation, the company... A frown passed briefly across her face. She may not have any true experience of courtship, but Glorfindel certainly didn't seem to be acting in the way of a lover – to her sister at least. In fact, it seemed as though Baudhiel irritated him. Aníra, on the other hand...

_Ease up, An__í__ra!_

She shouldn't be so easily flattered by such simple things. Glorfindel was well known for being generous to everyone.

_Well, almost everyone._

The strains of music drifted into her mind and she sat up quickly. It was a lute, being played inside the cottage. It was being played in the stuttering manner of someone unpractised in the art but nevertheless with some knowledge of it.

Aníra clambered out of bed and went to the parlour. Standing on the threshold, she listened to the wobbly notes. When the playing eased off, she tentatively said:

"Good morning, Sister."

"Aníra."

"You decided to play, then?"

"Yes, I thought that as Glorfindel and Aerlinniel set so much store by music, I had better keep my hand in. It seems the Valar were watching over me and so prevented the throwing away of Adar and Naneth's music sheets. Evidently, they had planned for this moment."

"You never told me you had kept all that."

"There was no need, of course."

"Did I hear you play _Dancing Shoes_?"

"Yes, but it's not coming naturally. I don't know what's wrong."

"Hold on, let me think." Aníra cast her mind back and began to hum the first few bars, slowly to begin with, but then with more confidence. Soon her fingers were joining in, helping to emphasise the various beats.

Baudhiel began to play. This time her rhythm came much more easily. The two sisters stayed there and covered the entire tune. It was a wondrous moment and they were both rather awkward when it came to an end. Eventually, Aníra made to return to her chamber. As she passed through the doorway, her sister spoke:

"Thank you."

XXX

"Greetings, Aníra, I hope all is well?"

Aníra's answering movement startled the honeybee she'd been following through the lavender.

"Aerlinniel! What do you do here?"

"I've come to visit you of course. My brother told me where; I hope you don't mind."

"I'm very honoured, but I don't think it's such a good idea. My sister wouldn't like it."

"Your sister doesn't need to know. Besides, it's none of her business whom I visit. Please – I need not stay long."

As it wasn't in Baudhiel's habit to come home during her working hours, Aníra hesitantly nodded her assent. The gate clicked open.

"My word," Aerlinniel gasped, "It's wonderful…and so…_natural_!"

"Wild, I think you mean."

"It's lovely and this lavender has a magnificent scent."

There was a rustle of undergrowth and Aerlinniel sat down on the bench.

"Now then, I have a gift for you. Something we know you'll appreciate. Here."

An all too familiar shape was placed in Aníra's lap, although it was now bound in a leather bag.

"No, not Glorfindel's lute."

"Aníra," her hands were taken up, "It is Glorfindel's to give to whom he will. His only regret is that he's unable to give it in person. Please – it would give us such joy to know that it's with someone who would appreciate it and take proper care of it."

"I'll be very careful with it, I promise."

"Of that, I have no doubt, my friend. Now, shall we have a bite to eat? I've got some fruit meringues here and some elderflower cordial."

"Do you make that as well?"

"No, a friend does."

"It's delicious. Maybe you could go into business together?"

"I'd never thought of that. Castien does have a stall in the market. I'll suggest it to him; you never know what could happen."

They munched in companionable silence for a while.

"You should know that my brother was truly mortified at having caused harm to your Naneth's lute, although he was equally pleased at having a proper excuse to visit you again."

"Aníra? It's Gwirith. Where are…oh…greetings, my Lady."

"Gwirith, this is Aerlinniel, Glorfindel's sister."

"Yes, I know. Glad to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, err…"

"Gwirith is our cousin."

"Gwirith. Won't you join us? Although we'd need a little more space."

"How about on the lawn there?"

"Good idea. You bring the basket. Aníra?"

There was a gentle hand at Aníra's elbow, subtly guiding her to the selected area. Then, as the cordial and conversation began to flow, a casual observer would be forgiven for assuming that this happened all the time and was nothing out of the ordinary. For Aníra, however, it was a wonderful experience that allowed her soul to unfurl its wings and soar. She relaxed and allowed things to just happen, but all too soon, she found herself saying the inevitable, wistful farewell.

"Certainly I'll come again," Aerlinniel assured her. "We could make music together. I, er, take it that Baudhiel is out most days?"

"All day, every day."

There was a slight squeeze on Aníra's forearm.

"Until tomorrow, then! Come, Gwirith, let us leave Aníra amongst her lovely garden."

XXX

From that point on, two things began to happen with an almost calming regularity. First, Aelinniel continued to visit for long periods during the day. Sometimes Gwirith was with them, sometimes she was not. There was always some delicious treat to sample, both sweet and savoury, and they would almost always end up playing music. Aerlinniel would sing or play a little set of pipes, then, as time went on, Aníra began to join in the singing. While a little scratchy and unpractised at first, her high, clear voice was soon soaring into the descant notes with ease. Aerlinniel and Gwirith never let on, but they would sometimes get admiring faces peeking over the fence.

Baudhiel persevered with her music also. As she poured over her collection of song sheets, her playing took on the sound and quality of a scholar, laboriously practising each note in an effort make up for her previous steadfast disinterest. At least it meant the evenings were no longer spent in silence.

XXX

"Good morning, Aníra."

She tensed at the masculine voice, but she didn't run away or drop anything like she had the first time.

"Good morning, Glorfindel, I was expecting Aerlinniel."

"My sister sends her apologies. I hope I might be a suitable replacement?"

"Have you brought pipes or a good singing voice?"

"No, but I do have an idea, if you would care to hear it?"

By this point, he was directly in front of her, his voice on a level with hers.

"What would it be?" Aníra inquired, as lightly as she could.

"Would you like to accompany me to the market?"

Aníra had heard a lot about the markets of Gondolin from Aerlinniel and Gwirith. They were all held according to a rotating list, but they were also dictated by the seasons or celebrations so that no two markets were ever quite the same. Craftspeople would descend upon the city from the Outlying Villages. There would sometimes be pageants, poetry recitals, or singing and dancing. If the wind was in the right direction, Aníra could hear what was going on and would long to be part of them herself. But even now, did she dare? In the course of their recent conversations, Aerlinniel had volunteered snippets about her brother. Gwirith had asked most of the questions to begin with, but Aníra had gradually relaxed enough to ask some of her own. Baudhiel, having taken every opportunity recently to visit Glorfindel at home, would always speak of him with reverence, but his sister could furnish him with smirks, quirks, rolling eyes, and funny stories. Thus, the little embers inside Aníra's soul began to glow with renewed life and longing. Glorfindel had become a very definable presence in her small world and he was now patiently waiting for her answer.

"I would like that."

"Excellent! Let us not waste a moment." The delight in Glorfindel's voice flooded Aníra with warmth and she allowed herself to be hauled to her feet.

As they set off, her hand was claimed for his elbow and his own held it in place. Aníra's fingers had brushed against a stiff, leather object at Glorfindel's wrist.

"What's this?"

"I'm in my Guard's uniform today. What you're feeling is one of my wrist-guards." Then he began to describe his entire outfit, from his heavy, suede boots to his sweeping Commander's cloak.

Aníra took in every word spoken by that aristocratic baritone and allowed them to form a picture of Glorfindel as pure warrior: strong and protective. She would be needing that side of him now as the words, 'ah, here we are' brought her back to Arda with a jolt. It was loud and claustrophobic. So many voices! All of them talking at once. Each time Aníra tried following one sound, another would cut it off, making her head spin. She clutched at Glorfindel's arm, totally disorientated, and then froze. Her chest began to feel tight and her breath laboured.

"Aníra? Aníra!" Two firm hands grasped her shoulders before moving to frame her face. "I need you to calm down. Listen to my voice. I'm not going to leave you. Now, just breathe. I'm going to get you out of here. Just concentrate on my voice. That's it, come on now."

Glorfindel's large, strong arms had encircled Aníra about the shoulders and he was moving her bodily through whatever crowds there were. Aníra's mind had contracted to the point that she hardly noticed where she was being taken.

"Here. Sit here." She sat and her hands were taken in Glorfindel's. His thumbs began to massage her wrists. The air now felt clearer and fresher. Aníra became aware of soft birdsong. Gradually the pains in her chest began to subside. "I'll be right back, hmm?"

Aníra sat back and let the gentle breeze play across her face. Glorfindel was soon back at her side, pressing a metal goblet into her hand.

"I've brought you some water." The water was cold and sweet and for the first time, Aníra's ears caught the playful bubbling of a nearby fountain. She felt Glorfindel sit down beside her. He kicked his heels against the stone.

"I'm so sorry." He sounded dispirited and forlorn, quite unlike the confident, genial Glorfindel she'd come to know. "I-I didn't think."

"I don't tend to get out much these days. Not since…" Aníra bit her lip.

"How did it happen?"

"I don't really remember, to be honest. How the fire started, I don't know. Adar managed to get Baudhiel out, and then went back in for Naneth and me. I was told later that we were found under some beams. It was a miracle I survived." A hand squeezed hers gently. "It was a long time ago. There's no point crying over something which can't be changed."

"Excuse me, my Lord." A new, feminine voice. Aníra shrank away from it. "I couldn't help noticing your lady appeared distressed just now. Is everything alright?"

"Aníra?" Glorfindel's foot nudged hers.

"Yes, I-I'm fine, thank you."

Silence. Presumably the elleth had left, having taken one look at her. Baudhiel was right. Glorfindel was just being kind.

"I think I should like to go home now."

"Are you sure? Well, come on, then. We'll go the longer way around; it'll avoid the market."

They had just set off, when there was the sound of running feet.

"Wait a moment." It was the elleth again. Aníra braced herself only to be given a small bunch of flowers. She blinked, unsure of what to do. "I thought you might like these. Yavanna has been most gracious this year. Would you like me to tell you what there is?"

Aníra was stunned, but somehow her mind managed to respond.

"No, I can smell them." She inhaled the gentle aromas. They were delicate Michaelmas daisies and forget-me-nots. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

And this time, she truly meant it.

**TBC**


	5. Poetry & Prose

**CHAPTER 5: POETRY & PROSE**

Glorfindel visited again the very next day. He gifted Aníra a small bouquet of autumnal blooms.

"To compliment yesterday's bounty," he said as she took a gentle sniff. "And to apologise."

"You have no need to apologise. You merely proved Baudhiel correct."

"In what way?"

"I can't care for myself and I'm a leech on everyone's time."

The force with which Glorfindel suddenly gripped her shoulders and the tone in his voice indicated his agitation:

"I never want to hear that from you again – _never_. Do you understand?"

As a matter of fact, Aníra didn't. Baudhiel had been saying such things to her for years now and there had been few around to contradict her.

"But I can't do anything for myself."

"You play the lute and you identified those flowers yesterday."

"Yes, but-"

"Not being _permitted_ to do something is not the same as being _able_ to do it. Yes, you may need a little help doing things and there are probably some activities which aren't safe for you to do, at least by yourself, but with time and patience I'd wager you could be more or less independent."

"I can't go anywhere by myself."

"You know your way about your home, don't you?"

"Only after a lot of hard work."

"Exactly my point."

"People recoil at the sight of me."

"Aerlinniel doesn't, the elleth yesterday didn't, and I most certainly do not." Aníra felt the pads of Glorfindel's first two fingers begin to gently caress her face. His next words were spoken in a softer, even tremulous, tone: "This may no longer be smooth, but I will always remember the first time I saw you play. Your soul and spirit shone through so beautifully and _that_ is worth far more to me than any alabaster maiden." Now his entire palm moved to cup her cheek, and then slid down her neck to her shoulder, and on to her own palm, where it stayed. "I won't press you just yet," he whispered, "But I hope, one day soon, you will believe me without being reminded."

He stepped away, leaving Aníra missing the warmth of his touch.

"I'd err…better get these in some water." She turned and walked into the cottage. She had to grip the bouquet with both hands to stop them trembling. Bootsteps followed all the way to her room. "Were you planning to stay long?" she said whilst she added them to the vase she'd prepared yesterday. The vase that would have to be secreted away before Baudhiel returned home.

"Well, I actually thought I could perhaps take you out again?"

"Oh, Glorfindel, I don't know."

"Please. To help me atone for my poor choice yesterday."

"Where did you have in mind?"

"The public gardens."

Aníra's whole demeanour changed, for she longed to visit these. As they had walked back yesterday, one of the topics of conversation were the abundant areas of Gondolin given over to the enjoyment and admiration of Yavanna's gifts.

"Do I take it that the idea pleases you?"

"Oh yes!" Her reply was breathy with excitement.

"We'd better not waste any more time, then. Come on."

XXX

The place Glorfindel had described seemed a perfect Eden: a mixture of controlled and uncontrolled planting so that colour blossomed throughout the year. Tree-lined pathways that guided walkers to secluded arbours. Fountains that provided drinking water and others that were more ornamental. During the hottest parts of the year, these became the favoured haunts of elflings – and even some of their elders – who all grabbed the chance of a bit of playful cooling down. Now that the summer heat was starting to wane, the gardens were an oasis of tranquillity. Glorfindel bought them some crispy pancakes filled with apple and blackberry, which they ate whilst seated on a bench, basking in the still warm glow of Anor's rays.

"Greetings, Glorfindel, it's nice to see you away from the training grounds for once."

"Well, Erestor, I'm sure it would be equally nice for your Adar if you deigned to turn up to them yourself. Been to the library again, I take it?"

"I train just as hard as you, thank you very much, _I _merely have the immense advantage of not being Lord of my House."

"My friend!" Glorfindel had risen and Aníra heard two forearms connecting as the ellyn greeted each other. "Erestor, allow me to introduce Aníra Ainioniel. Aníra, this is Erestor Ecthelionion, of the House of the Fountain."

"My Lady," said the new ellon.

Aníra got to her feet. Her hand was taken by one that, while more gracile, was just as work-roughened as Glorfindel's. She put her other hand to his wrist and could instantly feel that the engravings upon the wrist-guard was different from those of the Golden Flower. She thought about how else the uniform of this House was different. The word 'Fountain' conjured up images of blue or silver, maybe. Aníra sighed sadly and dropped the hand, for it was yet another reminder of how small her own existence was and how much she relied on others for the most basic of things.

As though to help cover the moment, Glorfindel asked about the books Erestor was holding.

"I'm working on a new translation of the Bard."

Aníra instantly brightened.

"The Verses?" she queried excitedly.

"Indeed," Erestor answered, "I hope to progress onto the Prose given time."

The Verses and Prose were a collection of texts written in a most strange language. Made up of small, stiff markings and odd flourishes, this unknown script was quite unlike elegant Tengwar. Only a handful of the most scholarly and dedicated elves could decipher it. Once they had, the shorter Verses spread like wildfire, especially through word of mouth, so beautifully composed were they. Nevertheless, they were still counted as an unsolvable mystery, for some spoke of love, while others spoke of jealousy and betrayal. Number 2 in the list compared forty winters with youth unfavourably, as though age were something of consequence to the writer, whilst Number 130 was almost insulting were it not for the final two lines:

_And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare  
As any she belied by false compare._ (*1)

The Prose were another element entirely: long, long scrolls of text, written in a very unflowing fashion, divided into shorter and longer groups by yet more strange markings. They appeared to follow some kind of pattern, but most were still to be translated. Debate raged amongst scholars as to who could have written them. Tengwar wasn't yet 1000 years old, surely these texts couldn't be older?

"Naneth was very proud of the fact she knew all the Verses by heart. She had them all collected together in one volume. Adar could pick any one and recite the first line and Naneth would come in one the second. She even set some of them to music."

"That must have been wonderful."

"It certainly was. Whoever the Bard was, they certainly knew a lot about the soul."

"Isn't there some doubt as to whether the Bard was male or female?" Glorfindel asked.

"Well, both genders are addressed – mayhap there is more than one author."

"Possibly," continued Erestor, "I believe there is reference to a name in Numbers 135 and 136 and play around the word 'will'."

"Will? That's not a name, surely." Glorfindel sounded incredulous.

"See for yourself." Pages rustled. "Here and here."

"I suppose, but it's a very odd name, isn't it? Will." Glorfindel drew out the single syllable cautiously, as though testing the sound of it on his tongue. "Can't see the attraction of it myself."

There was a small _tsk_ and then Erestor's quiet voice:

"I can tell _you_ are a kindred spirit to me in these things, Aníra. Do you have a favourite Verse?"

Truth be told, Aníra didn't really know any of them, apart from the odd line here and there. However, there was one which was so beautiful that she had taken the time to learn it.

"I like Number 116," she offered.

"Good choice and of course therein lies evidence for the Bard's view on the soul."

"Which one's 116?" queried Glorfindel offhandedly.

Aníra opened her mouth to recite but was prevented by a light touch to her shoulder.

"Nay, don't divulge our shared knowledge. Let's see if his Lordship can actually tear himself away from his maps and charts and find it for himself." Erestor's teasing tone was palpable; Aníra knew the mirth would reach his eyes.

"Aren't you on duty soon?"

"Hmm, I think that means we won the argument, Aníra."

"Were we arguing? I merely wish to do justice to your Adar's position."

"Oh, of _course_ you did, but I shall keep my peace. It was nice meeting you, Aníra, if you ever feel in need of a more intellectually inspired conversation, I'm your-I'm going, I'm going!"

Aníra waited until his bootsteps had died away.

"So that was Erestor."

"Yes, that was my good friend Erestor."

"Have you known each other long?"

"Since we were elflings. Our Adars were very close."

"What does he look like? I can tell he's slenderer than you."

Aníra closed her eyes and allowed Glorfindel's soft, detailed description to filter into her mind. Soon, she was picturing this tall, dark ellon clearly. That he was a born scholar was evident and whilst he was content to do his duty to his House, he was equally, if not more, content that others should take the reins.

XXX

They took a different route back to the cottage. Aníra was loath to part from Glorfindel, for that softly accented baritone was sinking deeper and deeper into her soul. It gave her confidence, strength, speaking of possibilities she had thought beyond her grasp. It was through Gwirith and Aerlinniel's gentle coaxing, too, that she had begun to believe in bigger, better things. However, it was when she was alone or with Baudhiel that her mind would close back in on itself and her fragile soul would say, 'no, stay safe'.

Glorfindel suddenly halted.

"Come with me," he said excitedly, "There's something I must show you."

He took her by the hand, dragged her across the street, and placed it on to a smooth, wooden surface. Aníra knew that many crafters tended to sell their wares from dropdown counters at the front of their workshops, with the living-quarters behind or above. With no idea what she might find, Aníra gingerly moved her fingers forward until they connected with something solid and smooth.

"Please do touch my figurines and pick them up if you wish," a feminine voice said, "They were made to be handled."

Wooden and light, the figurine fitted well into the palm of her hand. She traced the line of the robes and the delicately braided hair.

"I see you carve all sorts of subjects," Glorfindel commented.

"A block of wood is my easel, my Lord, I try to carve anything I come across."

A gentle tap on Aníra's forearm drew her attention.

"Aníra, I wish to gift you with one of…erm…my apologies…?"

"Nimwen, my Lord."

"Thank you. I wish to gift you with one of Nimwen's beautiful creations."

Glorfindel's hand moved up and was now laying across her shoulders. It's warmth and the sweet, slightly nervous way in which he made his statement cleared any vestige of doubt from Aníra's mind.

"I should like that." She had a sudden urge to kiss Glorfindel on the cheek but refrained.

"Good. Which one would you like? Nimwen has all manner of flora and fauna here…ooo, over there are some musical instruments – a lute perhaps?"

"No, I don't think so." Aníra rolled the figurine she still held between her hands thoughtfully. "What other elves do you have?"

"I have warriors, smithys, artists. I can make one to order if you wish."

"Do you have any scholars?"

"I think so…let me see. Ah, here we are. All by himself, he was."

As Aníra studied this new figurine, she said:

"Singularly appropriate, don't you think, Glorfindel?"

"In what way?"

"Erestor strikes me as someone who'd be happiest sat by himself studying."

"True enough. I sometimes think Gondolin could come crashing down around him and he'd hardly notice."

The elf was standing at a lectern, quill in motion, scrolls of parchment at his feet. Aníra felt along his arm, up through the curve of the quill, her fingertips catching every rib of feather.

"I'd like this one."

Once Glorfindel had paid and Nimwen had wrapped the Scholar up in a little bolt of cloth, Aníra slipped her hand back into the elbow that was becoming decidedly natural.

"Thank you, Nimwen. I hope to see you soon."

"My pleasure, my Lord, my Lady."

XXX

"So you've found your very own Erestor," Glorfindel commented lightly as they meandered back through the streets. "I'm sure he'd be flattered."

"I like him."

"Well, I suppose I can't really complain at your taste in ellyn."

Aníra felt her ear-points flush and didn't answer.

When they reached the garden gate, Glorfindel paused.

"I…I enjoyed our time today. May I pay such a call again?"

Despite all that had happened and the fluttering of her heart, Aníra still turned away, biting her lip. Indecision was never far away for her.

"I will bring Erestor along, if you wish."

Aníra snapped around.

"Would you? I'd love to talk more about the Verses with him."

"If it pleases you, I'll make arrangements."

Aníra squeezed his arm gratefully.

"Thank you, Glorfindel. Until then?"

"Until then."

XXX

Later, in the sanctuary of her chamber, Aníra unwrapped her miniature Erestor and held him close. She felt as though she was on the cusp of something, between the old and the new. She would always look back on this day and savour the happiness.

**TBC**

*1 Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare.


	6. Perchance to Dream

**CHAPTER 6: PERCHANCE TO DREAM**

Glorfindel kept his promise. The next time he knocked upon Aníra's gate, it was with both Erestor and Aerlinniel in tow.

"We're going to have a picnic," said Aerlinniel, "I've got my little lap harp. If you brought along your lute, we could serenade each other."

As was customary, Aníra wavered a little.

"Please do, Aníra." Erestor's voice was soft, but clear as a bell. It was not a voice you could ignore. "I have yet to hear you play. Perhaps you will indulge me with a little of the music your Naneth composed for the Verses?"

How could she refuse such a request? Once everything was ready, Glorfindel claimed her hand while Aerlinniel and Erestor brought up the rear. They eventually happened upon a suitable patch of grass, where Erestor and Glorfindel spread out a blanket and unpacked the food. Aerlinniel struck up a delicate, little melody. Aníra listened for a while, and then she moved her fingers in complete harmony. She wasn't thinking about the tune at all, but her soul seemed to know instinctively which notes to play. Up and down the tune went, transporting its listeners to clouds and dreams and places of endless wonder.

Aníra couldn't be sure how long they played, but it was with in an airy frame of mind that she returned to that little patch of grass in Gondolin. Her soul felt so light and enraptured. Gradually, though, she became aware of clapping and stiffened.

"It's alright, Aníra," said Glorfindel encouragingly, "You're amongst friends."

"Aníra, they were _dancing_ to our music. Please, let us play another. Just like in your garden." Aerlinniel squeezed Aníra's hand. "Look, how about I start, and you join in when you feel ready?"

She struck up another, livelier tune. Now that Aníra knew others were watching, her heart was thudding, but then, surely, she could have put two and two together in the first place? She had to concede that nothing 'bad' had happened, either this morning or at any other time when she'd been out with Glorfindel. Maybe his presence _was_ her saving grace, and that meant she would be safe here.

Aníra stiffened again, but only to straighten her spine. She drew her fingers across the lute and, at the same time, let her reserve go. She plunged into the next chorus, filling in the holes of Aerlinniel's music, making it bigger and brighter. This time, however, she didn't surrender entirely to the music, but kept one ear tuned to the world around her. She could hear laughter and clapping. Aerlinniel had mentioned dancing, perhaps that was happening again. Aníra turned her head in that direction, trying to imagine the scene.

She could remember the dances from her homeland: the sight of elegantly gowned and robed elves whirling together, creating rainbows. The taste of sticky sweetmeats. The smell of woodsmoke. The sound of the hot, crackling fire, sending sparks so high into the air it seemed as though Elbereth herself was blessing them. Aníra could remember also her silken gown, so light that it felt like air billowing about her feet. How she longed to be back in that glade.

There were new sounds now: pipes, a fiddle, and a drum. Other elves were joining in! It was a heady moment and when it came to an end, Aníra didn't hide away. She felt happy and proud. A tug from Aerlinniel told her to get to her feet. The strange musicians had come to introduce themselves.

"Would you like to play another?" said one.

"How about _The Delight of Grace_?" suggested one of his companions.

"Certainly," Aerlinniel replied, "Do you know it, Aníra?"

Aníra nodded. She was just finding the notes when a hand at her shoulder stopped her.

"Would you care to dance?" There was that sweet, nervous tone again.

"Glorfindel, I can't-" A finger was placed firmly on her lips.

"Of course you can, but maybe you'd like a little help? Now, where is Erestor? He was here a moment ago… Erestor! Come over here, we need your help." They held a hurried conversation in whispered undertones, and then Glorfindel took Aníra by the hand.

Realising that she was being taken towards the crowd, Aníra hung back.

"Glorfindel..."

"Trust us."

"Us? Glorfindel, what is going on?"

The Elf-Lord merely continued his purposeful movement until they reached a smooth, stone area whereupon he placed one arm around Aníra's waist. Erestor mirrored the gesture from her other side. Uncertainly, Aníra put her own arms around the ellyn, conscious that a hush had fallen over the onlookers. The fiddler began to play, striking up a tempo of 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. Glorfindel and Erestor matched it, swirling gently around in perfect unison. Aníra was a lot more rigid and kept stepping on toes, but her partners didn't complain.

"Relax," urged Erestor, "We won't let you fall."

As the music flowed and their movements repeated, Aníra found that her muscles did begin to relax and move of their own accord. Soon she was excitedly anticipating the next big turn.

"That's it, Aníra, well done," Glorfindel whispered.

The smile that greeted his words was one of pure joy. (*1)

XXX

"That was fun!" said Aerlinniel delightedly as they finally began to wend their way home.

The afternoon was getting chilly and there was the feeling of rain in the air.

"There is magic in spontaneity, isn't there?" replied her brother. His hand, resting on Aníra's at his elbow, squeezed gently. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, Aníra?"

"Yes, I did. I should like to do it again sometime."

Another squeeze.

"Me too."

"It was a shame Erestor dashed off like that though," Aerlinniel continued.

"Yes," Aníra sighed, "I should have liked to have discussed the Verses with him some more."

"There's plenty of time for that yet," said Glorfindel, slightly dismissively.

"_Honestly_, Brother, have you no appreciation for such things?" Aerlinniel sounded exasperated. "Hmm, well, I'll take _that_ as a 'no', then. You can be so refined at times. And on that note, I bid you farewell. I'll come around again tomorrow, Aníra."

"Did you truly enjoy yourself?" Glorfindel persisted as they walked further homeward.

"Yes. I've made such wonderful friends recently. My days aren't as dark as they used to be. I find I can even bear my sister with greater equanimity."

When they reached the gate, Glorfindel opened it and followed Aníra in.

"Well, thank you, Glorfindel. I'd better get inside before-"

Strong fingers gripped her wrist.

"Don't leave. Not yet," his low tone pleaded. Aníra stepped closer to his warmth. His hand moved to cup hers. He swallowed. "What you said…back there…that's the second time you've referred to me as a friend."

"Yes," she breathed.

"I had hoped that I mean more to you than that. And I…I have no desire to be a mere friend to you."

Slowly, Glorfindel's hand ghosted up Aníra's arm, and then her shoulder, and then her cheek, until finally his fingers found her ear, one of the most erotic places on an elf's body. Only those intimately acquainted with each other were permitted such a liberty. Aníra leant into his touch, her soul simmering with pure need. Then his other hand framed her face and turned it upward. She felt lips plant gentle kisses on her eyelids, and then, and then...He was so gentle, so mindful of her, that he didn't pressure her for any more than a brief, tender kiss. It was a far more eloquent argument than any other he had made up until that point.

It started to rain, heavily and continually, but Aníra didn't mind. She liked the rain and had often noticed that the droplets somehow formed a silvery image in her mind as they bounced off surfaces (*2). She looked directly up at the elf-Lord in front of her and reached out a hand to confirm by touch. She felt the long, golden, by now rather water-logged hair, secured away from his face by Warrior-braids. Onwards to his high forehead, his long, straight nose, his high cheekbones, his lips which were quirked in a soft smile and now moved to give a quick kiss to the examining fingertips. Onwards to his chin, his strong throat, and ending up at his collar, where her fingers brushed against a slender, metal chain.

"What's this," she asked.

"It's the symbol of my House."

He pulled the pendant out from its resting place and laid it in her palm. It was a small, flat disc decorated with a spiral of minute gems and edged by a band of metal that jutted out into several, equal points. The points themselves were headed by more minute gems. It was a rayed sun.

"It's exquisite," Aníra breathed.

"I have a similar one at home, made by my Adar, and now reserved for my own chosen Lady." His intimate tone made Aníra blush and keep her head down. Two fingers under her chin brought it upward. "If you let me, I would spend a lifetime proving myself worthy of your love."

Aníra smiled nervously, almost overcome with emotion, and nestled into his chest. That thick Commander's cloak was tucked around her and they held each other warmly.

The rain had steadied by now, but it was still falling without any indication of coming to an end. Glorfindel stirred out of his reverie.

"We should get inside."

Aníra nodded a reluctant acquiescence, but as Glorfindel started towards the cottage, she stayed put.

"I would like to be alone for a little while to get used to…all this."

"I understand." Again, he cupped her cheek. "I'll come back soon, hmmm?" Aníra nodded. "And remember, my love, whatever happens you now have me. There's a whole world beyond this garden and I can't wait to explore it with you."

He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead and stepped away. Aníra hurried inside. For a few moments, she stood dripping on the flagstones, savouring the thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside her. Then, with a twirl of joy, she made for her chamber.

She stopped, the little hairs on the back of her neck tingling.

A silken skirt swished.

"Greetings, Aníra."

Heart thudding, Aníra slowly turned around, conscious that every step was taking her further from the dream and nearer to the nightmare.

**TBC**

*1. I believe I first came across the idea of 'trio-dancing' whilst reading _The Elfwine Chronicles_ by Deandra, although I can't remember which story. A perfect opportunity for you to go and find out for yourselves by reading them – an activity I heartily recommend!

*2. Al la Marvel's _Daredevil_.


	7. Storms We Cannot Weather

**CHAPTER 7: STORMS WE CANNOT WEATHER**

Aníra was rooted to the spot. The skirts swished again, and then she heard the soft tap of neat, well-made shoes coming toward her. Baudhiel's pace was slow. Deliberate.

The footsteps stopped.

"So, the wanderer returns." Baudhiel's tone was equally controlled.

"Sister, I- Ow!" Aníra's wrist had been seized in a vice-like grip.

"Don't you _dare_ use that cloying term about me! _You_ are no sister of mine, not after this betrayal." Aníra's wrist was flung aside. She clutched it, trying to keep the fear at bay. "I had heard rumours that Glorfindel had been seen with a blonde elleth on his arm. I dismissed them of course, my Glorfindel would never…Then, this afternoon, there was music and dancing. I go along and, to my horror, I see you dressed in that ugly garb…"

_Clothes you force me to wear._

"Embarrassing me, a respected seamstress of this city…"

_Hardly anyone knows we're related._

"By dancing, like some common harlot, with _two_ ellyn…"

_Others were copying us._

"That you reeled in Erestor Ecthelionion was bad enough, but to dance – openly – with my intended-"

"Has he declared himself to you?"

A pause. Both ellyth were equally surprised at this unexpected interlude. There was also the shared realisation that Glorfindel had never done anything to demonstrate tender feelings towards Baudhiel. Nevertheless…

"It's only a matter of time. I-I _know_ we have a connection. He danced with me. Twice."

"He's danced with me as well and…" Aníra faltered, but had to carry on, "And I think I'm in love with him."

"Love!" Baudhiel scoffed. "What do you know of love?"

"As much as you, if not more. I know there is love and life and light in this city. _You're_ just too afraid to let them in."

"Am I? Well, let me tell you, oh experienced one: it's not going to be love that cooks and cleans for Glorfindel; it's not going to be love that polishes his armour or sews his tunics; and it's not going to be love that keeps the reputation of the Golden Flower free from stain. These are all vital, _you_ can do none of them. You have to work at love, Aníra. Earn it. Deserve it. I know because that's what I've spent my whole life doing and it's all your fault. You weren't supposed to be there – why, why, _why_? A nice surprise, Naneth called you, but I know the truth. You were unplanned. Unneeded."

It was in that moment that Aníra finally understood; finally she opened her eyes to what had been hiding in plain sight all along: Baudhiel truly resented her. Her own sister, but then she'd never even…

"Sister." Gingerly, she stepped forward.

"Don't touch me. Fine. Have your little fantasy, but I'll show you. You can't have Glorfindel and you don't deserve him, not after what you did."

Fabric swished, and then Baudhiel's chamber door slammed. Aníra followed and knocked.

"Sister?" She knocked again. "Sister, please. Don't do this. I-I need you."

Still no reaction. Aníra sighed and retreated to her own chamber. Once inside, she found Little Erestor and clutched him tightly.

"I _know_ there's good in her," she whispered, "Please help her see it."

XXX

As the fog of sleep began to clear from Aníra's mind, she became conscious of a continuous, high-pitched whistle. It sounded like…the kettle. It never sang like that and it screeched through her mind. She would have to do something about it and that meant going near the fire. Aníra shuddered. Still, Baudhiel couldn't be too far away; maybe she would just go and find out what was happening. She began walking down the narrow passageway.

"Ow!" Aníra cried sharply as her shin collided with something heavy and solid on the floor.

She staggered backwards into the wall at a momentary loss. Then, having regained her equilibrium, she knelt and cautiously began to feel the obstacle in her path: a wooden box. It felt like one of the old trunks they'd used when they moved to Gondolin. It was usually kept in the storeroom.

The kettle was still singing, it's piercing sound jumbling up her mental images.

Aníra slumped onto her heels, grim reality sinking in: Baudhiel wasn't there. She swallowed, levered herself onto her feet, and cautiously limped around the trunk. She didn't get far. Her foot caught against something, which toppled over and smashed. A ceramic jug. Not the most important item. She'd come back to it later. Stepping over the sherds, Aníra suddenly jerked back, her toes having encountered something cold and glutinous. Reaching down, she found a growing puddle of oily liquid. She sniffed at her fingers and immediately recognised the peppery scent of olive oil.

Aníra had lost count of her steps. She had no idea know what else lay ahead and that damned kettle was all she could think about. Her hands balled themselves into fists, nails digging into her palms. She had to continue.

Groping for the wall, Aníra felt her way along it and eventually came to the little knots in the wood that were opposite the kitchen. Relieved, she made towards the stove, but in her haste her foot caught on her nightgown. The oil-soaked fabric slipped, pitching Aníra forward against something piled up on the table. Down it fell, directly towards…

There was a small _whoosh _as something caught fire. Terror gripped Aníra's mind, shutting it down, as she scrambled away from the deadly substance. Memories of that fateful night flashed across her... _the lutes, the drums, the dancing; the four – no, three – of them coming home to a darkened cottage; the choking; the terrible, terrifying blackness…_ She started to shake and huddled in the corner, a tightness rising in her chest.

As if from far away, a knock sounded at the door. Then Aníra heard Gwirith's cheerful greeting stutter to a halt as she took in the scene before her.

"Aerlinniel, help me quickly!" Pans clattered. "The water-butt in the garden – come on!"

It took several trips before the heat and crackling subsided completely. Smoke hung limply in the air, its bitter odour congesting Aníra's nose and chest.

"Aníra?" Now Gwirith's gentle voice was on a level with her. "Why don't we get you out into the fresh air, hmm?" Aníra stayed where she was, hugging her knees. "Aníra?" A hand was laid on her arm, but Aníra flinched away. "Aníra, what happened?"

"There's oil on the floor here and a trunk."

"Aníra? I can see things have been changed. Please. What happened last night?" Still no reaction. "Well, let's at least get you dressed." Gwirith tugged at her arm.

"Leave me alone, I'm safe here."

"Aníra, please, I only want to-"

"No!"

"Very well, but Aerlinniel and I will just tidy up a bit, okay?"

Bangs, scrapes, and the sounds of sweeping followed Gwirith's directions. Eventually, the cleaning subsided and Aníra heard a different tread approaching.

"Are you sure you don't want to come outside?" Even Aerlinniel's friendly, encouraging voice couldn't persuade her. "Alright. Well, here's some quince and madeira fool, and some cinnamon ginger snaps, and some of Castien's excellent mulled apple juice. He hasn't agreed to the business idea yet, but I-I hope he does in the end. Come on, Gwirith."

"But we can't leave-"

"We all need to calm down, come on."

The footsteps retreated, the door clicked shut, and Aníra was alone.

Alone and safe.

XXX

"Aníra? Aníra, it's me." It was Glorfindel.

Aníra turned her face away as the door opened. Each achingly familiar bootstep was like a knife to her heart. She knew what she had to do and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to stem the leaking.

"Aníra," his voice was soft and coaxing, "Come now, let's get you out of here." Not trusting herself to speak, Aníra shook her head. "I'm not going to take 'no' for an answer. Come on."

He lifted her as easily as if she were an elfling and, with determined steps, took them swiftly out into the chilly autumnal air. He sat on the bench, with Aníra on his lap, and drew the luxuriant folds of his cloak about them both. So close were they that Aníra could smell his masculine scent and his warm breath tickled her neck. She turned away.

_Even he orders me around. I will always be at another's beck and call. At least I have the measure of Baudhiel._

"What happened?" Sitting stiff and erect in his arms, Aníra remained mute. "Aníra." Now his voice was edged with a commander's steel. She may as well get it over with.

"This is what happens to me. I'm trouble."

"No, you're not! Aníra, you don't have to live like this."

"I have food, shelter, clothing. It's all I need. All I deserve."

"No one deserves this. It's an existence, not a life. I can offer you a life and love. Don't deny yourself that."

Aníra managed to squirm out of the embrace.

"I'm not denying myself anything. I merely speak the truth. Glorfindel, I cannot perform any of the duties a wife should."

"Does it sound as if I care about that?"

"I have done nothing to earn your love."

"Aníra!" Glorfindel's frustrated tone was mirrored by him grabbing her hands. "Surely this last summer has proven to you that love is not earned. It is given freely and unconditionally…with all my heart." Now his voice was right by her ear.

"My sister deserves you more than I."

"Oh, don't bring her into this!" He moved away.

"Baudhiel has cared for me and protected me when…when she didn't have to."

"Is _that_ what they're calling it these days? Aníra, Baudhiel hasn't been protecting you, she's been poisoning you. She…look, this isn't about her, this is about you and me and…" His hands were back at hers, clutching them. He took a deep breath, and then:

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments; love is not-  
_(*1)

"No, don't!" Wrenching herself free, Aníra walked away hugging herself.

"Aníra, can't you understand what is happening? Bind with me and you'll be safe."

_Oh, yes, Glorfindel the great leader. Always being fawned over. Always doing his duty. That's all I am: a duty._

The silence continued until it was broken by the distant tolling of a bell. Low. Ominous.

"What in the world…? I have to go. Aníra?"

Aníra didn't turn around.

"We'll talk about this later."

She felt a gentle squeeze on her shoulder and then he was gone.

XXX

Aníra was still in the garden when Baudhiel came back.

"There you are, Aníra. I hope you now understand what I've been telling you all along: your life would be impossible. Now I've saved you from the embarrassment from finding out in public."

"Yes, Sister," Aníra intoned automatically.

"Aren't I good to you?"

"As always, Sister."

"Excellent. Right, time for a bite to eat."

Aníra remained where she was, listening. The sounds of the city had changed. Gone were the leisurely steps and bright calls. Everything felt tense. Then something struck her mind. Stepping inside, she said:

"You're back early."

"Yes, we heard the bell. There are Guards everywhere. Probably an exercise."

"Sister, I'm uneasy. Something's different. Please. We need to find out what's happening."

"Aníra, Gondolin has stood firm all these years. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Glorfindel will protect us."

The bell tolled again.

"That is not normal. Will you _please_ go and see?"

"For the love of Morgoth! Fine, I'll find Glorfindel, you'll believe him, won't you?"

The door slammed shut. Aníra walked slowly back to her chamber, dressed, and took up her lute. But her mind was anxious and kept returning to all that had happened.

_You weren't supposed to be there._

As she idly plucked the strings, Aníra turned things over and over in her mind, feeling that she was on the edge of something, something utterly incomprehensible and altogether dreadful.

XXX

"Baudhiel! Aníra! Where are you?" It was Límdur; he sounded agitated. Aníra called out to him. Running boots and then her chamber door burst open. "Aníra, thank goodness! Come, we must evacuate the city. The Lady Idril has built a tunnel for us."

"What? Why?"

"Morgorth has come with his Dark armies, most of the Outlying Villages have already been razed. Where is Baudhiel?"

"She went looking for Glorfindel."

"She's probably already been evacuated, then. Come on!" He tugged her towards the door.

"Wait!"

She snatched up Little Erestor and the lute. Límdur flung her cloak about her shoulders. They set off at a run, out into the streets, which were now a confused mêlée. They didn't get very far before they found the crowd of elves surging towards the house of Tuor and Idril.

"Where are Gwirith and Calanon?" Aníra panted.

"I sent them on ahead, but Gwirith wouldn't leave until I came looking for you."

Aníra could tell when they entered the Tunnel, for everyone bunched together and it was cold and echoey even though the anxious cries had become muted. The Lady herself would be the last to enter so she could seal it behind them.

XXX

For many days, the former citizens of Gondolin walked. Idril was leading them to the Havens of Sirion. This new refugee status became a great leveller, for now even the richest had little more than the poorest. They rationed and shared what food they had, grateful for the talents of the hunter- and fisher-elves.

Eventually, the scouts reported riders appearing on the horizon behind them. Panic spread until their identities were established: these Guards had volunteered to return to Gondolin to see what had become of the city and their comrades left behind. It was not good news. Gondolin, like the Outlying Villages, had been destroyed. Songs of Lamentation began to float across the crowd.

"I seek Aníra Ainioniel!" The Guard's voice carried far and wide.

Aníra nervously put up her hand.

"I am she."

"You…" His stern voice, evidently checked by seeing that she was blind, softened, "The Lady Aerlinniel has sent for you."

"I shall go with her." Gwirith's hand found Aníra's.

"And you are?"

"Gwirith Rilwestiel, Aníra's cousin."

"Follow me please." His horse trotted ahead.

They left the buzz of assembled elves and were soon ushered through the flaps of a tent.

"Oh, Aníra! Gwirith!" They were enveloped in a tight hug. "How glad I am that you are both safe! What about Límdur and Calanon?"

"They survived as well."

"I am pleased for you." There was something odd about Aerlinniel's voice. Strained. "Aníra." She took Aníra's palms and held them just a shade too tightly. "Glorfindel was valiant to the last and defended his troops against a mighty Balrog, but he…he fell alongside it." Aníra was numb with shock. "Thorondur, Lord of the Eagles, found his body and now he rests in the Mountains. I know how much you meant to him, but you need to know all. Thorondur bore up two bodies."

"My Lady," now it was a new masculine voice that spoke, "It seems they both struggled mightily against the Balrog, but we were unable to identify the second body. However, we did find this."

Something metallic was placed into Aníra's hand. Small and heart-shaped, she knew precisely what it was. She clenched her fist so hard that her nails dug into her palm and put it to her lips. She was trembling, but there were no tears. After all, what was the point in crying over something which could not be changed? However, if the party surrounding her had strained their ears, they may have heard the sound of a heart breaking.

Not only once, but twice.

**THE END**

*1. Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare.


	8. Review Reply

For earthdragon (& anyone else who has been thinking along the same lines)

_The course of true love never did run smooth.  
_~William Shakespeare in A Midsummer Night's Dream~

Thank you yet again for your meaningful review.

Baudhiel is not an obvious sympathetic character, but I do feel sorry for her. She has secretly nursed all these nonsensical insecurities until she can no longer tell light from dark. She is desperate for affection but cannot escape her demons.

Were Aníra and Glorfindel ever going to be going to reach their happily ever after, given how his timeline runs? Even if they had bonded, Aníra would have still ended up with a broken íra did not have strength enough to fly out of her sister's clutches, but, after so much cruel treatment, is one Summer of Love really enough for those thoughts to crumble into nothing? I don't think so.

And yet, and yet… hope remains: Aníra can now be taken under Gwirith's altogether nicer, more wordly wing. They may not know what happens to Glorfindel until it actually happens, but _we_ do.

This only Part One after all.

See you in the New Year…

R x


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